


thin as the tracks of the gulls on the beaches

by eurydicule



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, contains one slur, no point no plot we struggle to study characters like men, pre-smell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-08 17:58:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19475758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydicule/pseuds/eurydicule
Summary: Allie hands Sam the piece of paper. He looks at the handwriting, not neat but perfectly legible, feels the weight of the clearly expensive sheet of paper. The poem is a little bit on the long side, so he just skims it, not really reading the words, humouring Allie more than anything else. One line jumps out,And I watch my words from a long way off, but Sam does not want to take the time to dwell on why that is.He looks up at Cassandra, who is watching him, waiting for him to finish before she says: “It’s for class. Grizz gave it to me.”Sam, about to take another sip of coffee, puts his mug down.





	thin as the tracks of the gulls on the beaches

“I don’t get this,” Becca says and Sam can tell from her expression that she is, in fact, groaning it. “Why are we here? I hate sports. _You_ hate sports.”

They are on the bleachers, watching an actual game for once. This is Sam’s third year of high school, yet possibly the first time he is here to watch the football.

Usually, it is Becca and him on the bleachers during lunch hours. It is the perfect spot to sit as far away from anyone else as they like while still upholding some semblance of being involved with the general bustle of the school. For others, it is also a coveted chance to hang out around the football team, to feel somewhat included when the whole team plus girlfriends plus other admirers and hopefuls settles down on the bleachers like crows. Becca makes a point of sitting with her back to them on those days, lest anyone “gets the wrong idea”. Which is not entirely to Sam’s disadvantage. It is sunny on the best of days, it is always nice to get some air and they do not have to worry about finding seats in the cafeteria that do not make it awkward to sign and eat at the same time.

But tonight, there is an actual game on, all around them are people jumping up and down, stomping on the ground, awkwardly jigging in the limited spaces available to them for warmth. Against all odds, Sam finds that he is enjoying himself quite a bit. But it feels like this might not be the best thing to bring up with Becca.

So instead he just shrugs.

_We’re here for the team spirit._

“What is that?”

Becca mimics Sam signing _team spirit_ and for a split-second Sam is not sure whether she does not know the signs or whether— she starts grinning and Sam bursts into laughter. Just being Becca, then.

 _Team spirit_ , she signs again and shakes her head. “No offense, but I’m not quite sure we’re part of that team.”

“Part of the school spirit, then.”

“Yeah, not so sure about that one either.”

Sam wishes he could argue with that.

The Centurions beat St Anselm’s that day. Even if Sam is still not one hundred percent certain on the rules of this game or the exact repercussions on their school’s position in the league table, he gathers that it is a big deal. If the ecstatic floundering motions the Seniors collectively seem to succumb to are anything to go by, it is a bloody enormous deal.

Sam scans the field, trying to make out individual faces in the general mass of players, cheerleaders and student body, three currents quickly becoming one big bubbling wave of ochre and vermillion. He does not care what Becca thinks, this kind of excitement, untampered joy, is infectious. He spots Harry, seamlessly blending in with the huddle of players as if he had been bringing in those last important points himself. Shoe and Nathan from American History look like they are trying very hard to be cool about it all in an utterly unconvincing way. There is Clark, the school’s star running back, who is carried off the field on the shoulders of two tall, handsome guys Sam does not know by name. And then there is Grizz, the fourth one of the group, the one who always wears his trousers in his socks and an elastic band around his wrist. Carla from AP Physics is standing next to him, very earnestly inspecting his helmet. The two of them seem to be having a good time, Sam can tell as much from the bleachers. He looks away.

Becca softly taps on his shoulder.

“Hey, I just got a text from Kelly.”

_From whom?_

“Kelly, the Senior? The one who is dating Harry? How can you not know this? … Anyway, she said there’s a party at Harry’s now. Apparently we’re invited too.”

_I don’t even know her. How can I be invited?_

“She’s working on the paper with me. She knows we hang out. Look, she specifically said the invitation ‘s for the two of us.”

Becca shows him her phone.

Sam quickly reads the message. Maybe he even is about to nod, okay, I am in, but then the throng of people on the field catches his eye again. As if by accident, almost, his eyes find Grizz. Carla is still playing around with his helmet, but now Grizz’ arm is around her waist. He is making a sweeping gesture with his other arm, almost cuffing Clark’s girlfriend in the process. Grizz disentangles himself, as good as falling over in the attempt to apologise. He is apologising so profusely, in fact, that he does not even seem to notice how Carla is beaming at him. But Sam does. So he shakes his head, even though he cannot look at Becca just now, scared of what she might pick up.

“I think I’ll pass tonight, sorry.”

“What was that? Sorry, I didn’t-“

_Not tonight. Sorry._

Becca raises an eyebrow, bemused. If she is upset at all, she certainly does not show it.

“What happened to team spirit, huh?”

Sam looks at her. He knows this is not entirely fair on her, given that Becca really does not tend to go in for these things. Perhaps he should make an effort, but suddenly, he really cannot bring himself to do that.

_Campbell will be there. I’d prefer to go home._

Becca cannot really argue with that.

“But hey,” Sam quickly says, _just because I’m not going does not mean you should not. If Kelly invited you, you should definitely go._

“But who would I talk to? I don’t know anyone else there.”

“Becca, we’ve been going to school with these people for years! Of course you know them. Helena will be there for sure. And Madison's boyfriend is on the team too, right? So surely she'll be there. Really, you should go. I’m sure it’ll be fun!”

It takes a lot of cajoling, but eventually Sam convinces Becca to go.

He goes home, trying to think about how she will be having a good time and not about who else might be at the party and what they might get up to.

########

“How’s the SAT prep coming along?”

From the corner of his eye, Sam catches Allie throwing her hands up in desperation, so he turns towards her, just in time to catch:

“… god, Cassandra, I told you-“

“You specifically said not to talk to you about that. Well, I’m not. I’m asking Sam.”

Cassandra hands him a cup of coffee with a wink.

They are all sitting around the kitchen island at his cousins’ house. Allie and Sam had been finishing up some homework earlier when Cassandra came home, shaking the rain off her heavy coat before placing a ginormous box of Black and Whites at the centre of the table. Needless to say, he and Allie had welcomed her to the study group turned cousin catch-up with open arms.

_It’s going alright, I think. Guess you don’t know until you take them, right?_

“Well, that’s pragmatic. … Okay, we’ll see about the SATs, then. … Now tell me about prom.”

Allie buries her head in her hands.

Sam shrugs.

_I’m not sure I’m going._

“What? Allie, he’s saying he’s not going. Why would you not go, Sam?”

Allie raises her head, first to glare at Cassandra, but then she looks over to Sam.

Sam shrugs again.

_It’s not even my prom. I’m not sure who I’d go with._

“Yeah, Cassandra. Who would he even take?”

“What about Becca? Is she not going either?”

Allie visibly groans, turning to Cassandra slightly, so that Sam can still see her face.

“Really? Have you _met_ Becca? I’d wager 10 Dollars that she’d rather gouge her own eyes out.”

 _20 Dollars_ , Sam signs, laughing.

Cassandra blows on her tea. The blue finishing of the mug, Sam belatedly realises, matches the cream colour of her sweater perfectly.

“We could all go together. As cousins, I mean.”

“What? You, me, Sam and Campbell?”

“No! … I mean – no. Just you, me and Sam. Who knows, maybe we can convince Becca to come, too. It might be fun, no? And that way you guys get to experience prom twice!”

Allie just shakes her head and then pointedly starts looking through the papers littering the table. It is a mixture of class notes, textbooks, newspapers and the daily clutter of the Pressman’s – or perhaps, given that the Pressman’s are not known for their clutter, it is probably mostly the mess he and Allie have created in their attempts to get coursework done. Cassandra puts her mug down on the table, winks at Sam again and draws closer.

_Okay. I’ll add prom to the list of things we apparently should not talk about, yes?_

_Good idea. Let’s change the topic. That sweater looks really good on you._

_Thank you, Sam._

_How was your day, Cass?_

_I had a really good day, thank you! After school we had a short rehearsal for Rosencrantz. Then I was supposed to have my Biology tutoring group with the girls, but it turned out that Gretchen gets staff discount at WholeFoods, so the popular vote decided we should drive there instead. Not bad overall. Thank you for asking. And you? Subjects we shall not talk about aside, how are things?_

_Yes. Good. Did I tell you, I went to the football game last weekend and-_

“Hold up. What’s this?” Allie, her eyes suddenly dangerously alert, pulls out a paper from the pile and holds it up almost triumphantly. “Cassandra, is this yours? A secret admirer gave you this or what?”

“What are you- … oh, that? That’s a poem. Pablo Neruda. _You Hear_ -, wait, no. _So That You Will Hear Me_ , yes?”

“You’re not telling me anything that’s not already written on here. Sam, check this out.”

Allie hands Sam the piece of paper. He looks at the handwriting, not neat but perfectly legible, feels the weight of the clearly expensive sheet of paper. The poem is a little bit on the long side, so he just skims it, not really reading the words, humouring Allie more than anything else. One line jumps out, _And I watch my words from a long way off_ , but Sam does not want to take the time to dwell on why that is.

He looks up at Cassandra, who is watching him, waiting for him to finish before she says: “It’s for class. Grizz gave it to me.”

Sam, about to take another sip of coffee, puts his mug down.

“Grizz? Who is- oh! Grizz _Visser_?” Allie looks at Cassandra, incredulous. “The football player? He’s the one who hangs out at rehearsals sometimes, isn’t he?”

Sam starts a very careful catalogue of his features, the kind of expression his face has now, which muscles to tense, which ones to relax, so that he will keep it the same. He breathes in and out, very slowly, his eyes flickering between Cassandra’s lips and her hands.

“Yeah. He’s in AP English Lit. I don’t really see what your point is, Allie.”

“My point is that he clearly has a crush on you.”

“What? Don’t be absurd.”

“I’m serious! He most definitely does! First of all, he’s at rehearsals a lot and he’s definitely not part of the drama society.”

“He’s helping Harry with his lines, I think.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re friends?”

“Weird. … And now he’s going around copying out love poems for you?”

“That’s not how it was. I basically asked him to.”

“You _what_?”

“You know how Ms Morden always makes us work in pairs? Grizz used a line from that poem as an opening quote for an assignment I had to revise. I told him I really liked that line, that I might look into the poem more because I’m still looking for another poem to write my own assignment about. So today he gave me this. End of story.”

Sam feels himself relax, the tension in his shoulders slowly dissipating. He knows Cassandra well enough to know that she would not be lying to them, not about something like this.

“Why did you not just _google_ it?”

Cassandra blows a strand of her hair out of her face.

“Allie, your point, please.”

“He’s a jock! And now he’s suddenly super into literature too? Please, Cassandra. I just can’t believe you’d go in for a guy like that.”

Allie turns towards Sam, which makes him realise that he should probably say something before she ends up asking him something he does not want to answer or even think about.

_People can be interested in two things at once, Allie. Some people even manage three things._

Allie rolls her eyes at him and picks up her mug.

“Fine. So he’s not taking you to prom, Cassandra? … No? Well, prom amongst cousins it is, then!”

And she toasts Sam’s cup of coffee before helping herself to another Black and White.

########

It is first period on Friday, Algebra II, and Becca is late. Not unusual for Becca, especially on a Friday, but Sam still jiggles his knee under the table, waiting for her to arrive. When she does, it is in a flurry of layered dresses, camera equipment bags and profuse apologies to Mrs Keller. But she does seem to be in a good mood, does not look more tired than usual. Thursday is a big night for the bars on the edge of town, which means a big night for Becca’s mom, which means a short night for Becca, if things do not go very well. Sam stops fidgeting when she shoots him a smile across the classroom, still in the process of presenting what must be excuses to Mrs Keller. Perhaps things did go well last night for once, then.

_Good morning_ , Becca signs eventually, quickly shimming into her seat. It takes her a moment to sort out the bags she is carrying and to find her pencil and notebooks, but when she looks up next, there is a quizzical look on her face.

_Where’s Arturo?_

_Not coming today. Some kid in Hartford has an oral exam. Obviously that takes precedence._

“And what happened to that kid’s interpreter?”

 _Budget cuts_.

“Jesus Christ. That is so messed up.”

“Ms Gelb!”

“Yes, sorry, Mrs Keller.”

Becca ducks her head and leans over the table. She looks over at Sam’s book to find the page they are on, then spots the photocopy he had tugged into the pages of his exercise book when class started.

_That does not look like Maths to me. What are you reading?_

_Oh, nothing. It’s a poem. Cassandra was talking about it. It’s nothing._

_Can I see?_

Sam nods, so Becca picks up the photocopy and places it in her open notebook. She is a fast reader, but Sam can watch the emotions flickering across her face, uncharacteristically so for Becca. Then again, it is quite early. Perhaps those guards are not fully up yet.

“Oh, I like this one. ‘But my words become stained with your love.’ Cassandra has such good taste!”

“Ms Gelb.”

“Sorry, Mrs Keller.”

“Ms Gelb, would it help your concentration at all if I asked you to come up and do this next problem on the board?”

“I … yes, Mrs Keller. Of course.”

Becca tries to rein in the grimace as she gets up. Before picking up her notebook, she turns to Sam, who knows that it is very unfair that Becca keeps getting called out and he does not when he is just as much at fault, but who also cannot help but find these situations _very_ funny.

_God. I really don’t appreciate these front row seats, you know?_

Sam shrugs and tries not to laugh at her too openly.

########

_My words …. Sometimes grow thin … as the tracks of the gulls on the beaches …._

“I was thinking,” his father says over Sunday lunch after church, “we could go up to Maine next weekend. Take the boat out. It’s been a while. Jim brought it up and I think it’s actually a nice idea.”

Sam, very careful not to look at Campbell, focuses on his mother instead.

_Don’t you have that important conference next weekend?_

“I do, honey. I can’t believe you remembered that. … But I think your father means just the three of you and Uncle Jim anyway.”

His father nods, then turns to face Sam’s brother.

“Campbell?”

“Oh, my input on this is required now? It sounded like a done deal for a minute there.”

“Campbell.”

“What? You asking me whether I want to go or you’re telling me that I have to?”

“I’m asking you, of course.”

“Then, no. I don’t. Thank you for asking.”

Their father puts his fork down, straightens it out so that it is perfectly perpendicular to the edge of the table.

“I just thought it would have been nice. For you, Campbell. To spend some time with your brother, I mean.”

Sam winces. He wants to drop his head, look away, but his reflexes are kicking in and he is not fast enough. So Campbell catches him do it.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, fairy. Relax. I’m not coming, okay? … I have other plans anyway. So go ahead and enjoy a phony weekend in Maine.”

“Campbell.” Now it is their mother’s turn to put her fork down. She is not signing this, but Sam can almost guess what she is saying by the tight set of her jaw alone. “I have told you before and I will not tell you again. I will not have this kind of language in my house. Now, I want you to apologize. And then I want you to finish your lunch somewhere else.”

“What, just because I don’t want to join in on some stupid boat trip-“

“You know I am not talking about that. Apologize!”

Sometimes, Sam thinks, it would probably not be as bad if only it were constant.

Sam remembers watching a movie at Mickey’s birthday party in primary school. Or rather, he remembers sitting in the back, watching the images, because there was no one there to tell him what was going on. He did not mind, or he was trying very hard not to mind, that he was not following the story at all. Then Sam remembers Campbell sauntering in, dumping a pile of leaves and rocks from outside into Sam’s lap and unto his freshly laundered shirt, _a present just for you_. Sam, willing himself not to cry, had looked down, trying to scoop the mess into his bowl of popcorn. Hoping that nobody had noticed. He did get invited to these birthday parties a lot, of course he did, his parents being who they were. He was determined, even then, not to reflect badly on them. When he looked up again, trying to gauge what else Campbell might do, how best to respond, he found that his brother was at the front of the room now, gesticulating wildly to Mickey’s father. Sam remembers the feeling of terror when Mickey’s father got off his chair, convinced that Campbell had somehow managed to put the blame on him, certain that he would be asked to leave. But then Mickey’s father had simply picked up the remote, paused the movie and pushed a few buttons. When he had started the movie up again, subtitles had started showing up at the bottom of the screen.

And Sam remembers that time Campbell almost got himself expelled by turning the collected notes of one Senior for all of Senior year to cinder and ashes. The headmaster had not even questioned Campbell’s motives, just suspended him for a week and called in their parents for yet another meeting about their son. Sam, then a Freshman, had sat outside the headmaster’s office too, opposite Campbell, who had not been looking at him. The bruise on Sam’s ribcage had still hurt whenever he brushed it with his arm and Sam had wanted, so much, for Campbell to look at him, just once, really look at him, so that he could say thank you. But Campbell had not and so Sam did not. The Seniors on the football team had left Sam alone after that, stopped slamming him into lockers and hand railings at will, the jeering and slurs hurled across the hallway had ceased. At least for a week. And then Campbell had started to call him slurs.

At this point it is the volatility, more than anything else, that puts Sam on edge.

_Sorry_.

But Campbell is not looking at him, picking up his plate and leaving the room without another word.

Sam tries to catch his father’s eye, not missing a beat, and smiles.

_Going to Maine next weekend sounds like a really good idea, dad. I’d love to._

_Brilliant. I’ll tell Jim._

His father smiles back at him and picks up his fork.

########

_Your hands as smooth as grapes. … Hurricanes of dreams. … You fill everything, you fill everything._

Sam cannot get that poem out of his head.

He does not dream in hurricanes. Clouds, perhaps, but nothing as violent as thunderstorms. His dreams are mercifully mellow, if repetitive.

He wants to ask about the imagery, because he is not sure he understands.

There is a moment on the bleachers, out in the sunshine, the football team clustered on the front rows, Becca and him sharing a huge salad his father made. Helena, who Sam knows from church, is telling a story that makes the quarterback and his friends and their girlfriends laugh. Sam recognises Erika, who used to be in his year but then skipped the second year of middle school, leaning against her boyfriend. Shoe shakes his head at Clark and his girlfriend. And then there is Grizz, sitting a little off, still close enough to be a visible part of the team, still looking up every now and again to share a joke, perhaps. But mainly focussing on a book in his lap. It is just him. Just him and for a moment Sam has that terrible impulse to just go over there and ask.

Why a necklace for your hands, how can your own words belong to someone else, I do not dream in hurricanes, do you?

Sam wanted to ask Cassandra about the poem, perhaps she could have explained, but then that somehow had seemed like a step too far, an action too revealing. And with the play entering its final weeks before the premiere, Cassandra had been even busier than usual anyway.

He could just go over there and ask. It would be easy.

_I need an idea_ , Becca signs, focussing Sam’s attention on her, his mind changing track instantly, _for a photo spread. We had our editorial meeting for the paper yesterday and someone suggested a series of portraits about the football team because they are almost certainly going to win … whatever it is that they win. And I would rather step on a rusted nail. So I need a really good idea to get out of that._

“You up to date on your tetanus shots?”

“I am serious, Sam. Look at them! I can’t do that. … Please. Anything at all?”

_You know, in AP Physics last week, Bean had this very cool experimental set-up where she-_

“Oh no.”

Sam shrugs.

_Science nerds or football players, Becca. Pick your fighter._

“Oh god. Okay. Nerds. Clearly nerds. Hold on, I’m going to write this down.”

Becca starts rummaging in her backpack, looking for a pen and paper.

Sam looks past her shoulder to see Grizz pulling his hair up in a bun, his eyes never leaving the page.

He could just go over there and ask.

But of course he does not.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Title and quotations are from Pablo Neruda's "So That You Will Hear Me".  
> 2\. I can't figure out who is in whose year and it is driving me insane. Somebody please help.  
> 3\. Becca's hinted at backstory comes from [this post](https://thesocietynetflix.tumblr.com/post/180654764221/the-society-sets-cast), but I don't know if it's canon.  
> 4\. Thank you so much for reading!


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